


Came So Close

by calleigh_j



Category: I Love You Goodbye (Song)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calleigh_j/pseuds/calleigh_j
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never actually expected to get tickets to the ball, but then he did: what else was he supposed to do but send her one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Came So Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoZPierce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoZPierce/gifts).



The Opelousas Charity Ball isn't what he expected, though, if pressed, he's not sure he could explain exactly what he was expecting. It's huge and shining: an example of what can happen when the rich get together to organise things. The ballroom is enormous, massive chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. All the men are in suits, and all the women in gowns of every colour of the rainbow. He can see diamonds flashing from fingers and earlobes, necklaces that probably cost more than he could earn in an entire lifetime. He feels immediately out of place here for so many reasons - class, nationality, career. And every time he opens his mouth, the feeling of displacement just gets worse. People comment on his accent all the time and he usually doesn't mind, but here it's just another reason why he doesn't belong.

"Oh, you're from  _England_ ," they say, that all too familiar way of saying 'England' that never fails to raise his hackles. Inevitably, it's followed by some comment about how they've been to London and does he know so-and-so (he never does), and then he excuses himself.

She's across the huge ballroom when he spots her. She's looking straight at him, and he crosses the room to reach her.

"I wasn't sure you were going to come," he says, taking another glass of champagne as a waiter passes.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," she says. It's just another adventure to her, another photo in the album of her mind.

"How was your flight?" she asks and, for a moment, he has no idea that she's talking about. Then he remembers that they haven't spoken since he got on that plane months ago.

***

"I guess that's me," he says as they finally call his flight, almost twelve hours after it ought to have left. The morning light, clear and bright after the storm of the night before, shines through the windows that line one side of the departure lounge.

"I guess it is," she replies, hands wedged firmly in the back pockets of her jeans. She's not closed off exactly, but she's completely unapproachable, at least for him. He's not sure where it all went wrong but this is it, this is the end.

He slings his carry-on over his shoulder and she just watches him.

"I love you," he says, and when she doesn't say anything in reply, all he can say is, "goodbye." 

It's awful and cliched and she just stands there as he walks through the doors and into the tunnel to take him down to the plane. And that's it.

***

"It was fine," he replies. He remembers everything about that flight in painful detail. The way he just sat there, staring out of the window like some lovestruck teenager. Then the plane landed, he went back to his flat and got so drunk he barely remembers the next week.

"What have you been doing?" she asks.

She makes it seem so easy. The way she talks to him, it's as if nothing important ever happened between them. It's as if they went to high school together or worked together and they're just catching up on one another's lives, rather than the truth: he walked away because he had to, because it was never going to work, and it broke his heart. 

"Nothing much," he replies noncommitally. 

He can't play it cool like her, but he can pretend it doesn't hurt and maybe she'll believe it. He sips his champagne and looks around the room. He should never have come, and he should certainly never have sent her one of the tickets. But when they arrived, in a thick off-white envelope with a gold crest embossed on the back, it seemed like the only thing to do. He'd opened the envelope and pulled out the tickets and just stared at them for a long few minutes. He'd made the contribution because it was preferable to spending a night in jail: he'd never for one moment expected that he might get tickets to the damn thing. But there they'd been and before he really knew what he was doing, one of them was in another envelope - this one plain and cream and stamped 'air mail' \- and back in the postal system on its way to her.

The silence between them is awkward, or at least it is for him. She seems perfectly happy standing there, drinking her champagne. He knows he ought to ask her something about where she's been or what she's been doing but, honestly, he doesn't want to know. He just wants this night to be over and wonders exactly how long he has to stay before he can leave without being considered rude. Not that anyone here even knows who he is, but still, there's no need to be impolite.

"I'm sorry," she says at last and he nearly spills his drink in surprise, "I'm sorry about how things ended up. I think we could've been really good together."

He doesn't even know how to think about replying to that. They  _were_ good together but they're just too different. She's a free spirit, she bunks off work to go bowling on Friday mornings, she convinces him to steal cars. He's the very definition of strait-laced, never been in serious trouble in his life apart from with her. Eventually it would have blown up in their faces and so he left. He knows that, knows it in his head, but can't convince his heart of that truth. She will always be the one he loved and lost. She's everything he's never been and whilst he's never been particularly unhappy with himself, she makes him want to be different. But wanting something and being something aren't the same: he could never change that much, and he would never have wanted her to change for him.

"Maybe in another life," he suggests and she smiles a little and it's almost all okay because her smile is still beautiful and if he can make her smile, then it can't be all bad.

"I have to go," she says, swallowing the last of her champagne, "I have a train to catch."

"Where are you off to?" he asks, unable to stop himself. It's stupid - he should just let her go, but he's a little masochistic and there's a part of him that wants to know that if he wanted, he could still find her. He won't, but it would be nice to know that he could.

"Don't know," she replies with a shrug, "Somewhere fun, I hope." The implication - that she isn't having fun here - stings a little, but then he reminds himself that he's not having fun here either and that if she was, she wouldn't be the person he knows.

She leans over, kisses him on the cheek, and is gone in a flurry of skirts and a hint of perfume. He watches her leave, just as she watched him before. It feels like the last time. He mumbles, "Goodbye," under his breath, puts his empty glass down, and walks out of the room. 


End file.
